In the Shadows of Sunlight
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: She married the perfect man, and was a real life Cinderella...and found herself trapped. The worst part? The part where she realized that she was in love with her husband's brother.


_Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable from Ashita no Nadja._

_Author's Note: this is a prequel to In the Shadows of Moonlight._

It had happened by accident.

Nadja had never been exactly _friends_ with her husband's twin brother. There had been a time when she had considered him a suitor; but his courtship had been so wrought with deception that it had never fully made it into her consideration that she could have rejected Francis to accept Keith. After all, how could anyone build a solid relationship atop something that had begun with lies?

Following her marriage to Francis—and even in the months leading up to it—Nadja rarely spoke with Keith. When she did, it was always initiated by Keith. The first time that Keith had come to visit after Nadja had passed her final decision to wed Francis, Nadja had expected at least some amount of anger, or bitterness. Yet Keith had been perfectly civil—even amicable—during this encounter, and so Nadja had warmed to him in a way she never had while he had been courting her. They forged a tentative friendship which lasted past her wedding and into her marriage, and when she found herself pregnant with her and Francis' first child, Keith's genuine concern for her well-being had surprised her.

Perhaps she would have been more wary if Keith had showed a continued interest in her as anything more than a sister-in-law. But the man never did (and Nadja would never admit it, but this left her feeling somewhat disappointed) and never failed to arrive with some beautiful woman on his arm.

It had finally happened in the second month after Nadja's first child's birth, when Francis saw fit to go on a two-month-long business trip which he had been putting off while Nadja had been pregnant. Keith was staying in the Harcourt Manor to look after Nadja in Francis' absence, and Nadja found herself suddenly aware one day that this was the first time she had been alone—no Francis or beautiful young lady—with Keith since the days of their courtship. She found herself fantasizing about the things they had done together in their courtship—they had been physically attracted to one another, after all, if nothing else.

On the fifth night after Francis' departure, Nadja woke gasping, trapped alone in a heated body with only memories of the way Keith's lips on hers used to arouse depths of passion in her that she had not felt—not even _remembered_—since wedding Francis.

She had spent the next day avoiding Keith like a plague, much to Keith's concern. She was only romanticizing, she told herself. Keith had never actually made her feel so much passion. She had been young—hadn't known what it was like to be kissed in places other than her lips, or known what went on in a bed between a man and a woman.

A week later, she was still avoiding Keith. Her self-assurances had run dry, and she was not getting any sleep, for when she closed her eyes, she was consumed by a hot mouth and deep blue eyes that were much like her husband's…and yet not.

So she finally did the only thing she could think of. She began leaving the Manor early in the morning on long walks, and not returning until evening. Sometimes she chose to carry her son along. More often than not, she did not.

In the beginning, Keith mostly ignored her odd behavior, except for the odd looks he shot her when she quickly averted her eyes from him when his glance alerted her to the fact that she had been staring, or when she took the long way around the room to get to the door just to keep as far from Keith as possible.

Finally, there came the day when Nadja stopped during her walk, distracted from her attempts to try and think of something that was not Keith by footsteps behind her. The footsteps stopped as well, but a fraction of a second too late. Nadja would have known who it was anywhere, and she was questioning her sanity as she thoughtlessly blurted out, "I know it's you, and you must be losing your touch if I can notice you're there."

"I thought it might be nice to talk away from the manor, seeing as how you seem to be determined to avoid me. I judged that this conversation had the potential for raised voices and physical tantrums, and thought that you might like to let this take place somewhere away from the household staff."

"The presence of household staff would be a wonderful reason to have this conversation at the manor," Nadja retorted, blinking as all sorts of inappropriate thoughts skimmed the surface of her mind at the idea that they were totally alone.

"Either way, we're here now. So why don't you tell me what your problem is?"

Nadja said nothing.

"Oh, come on, Nadja. I can't stand to see you like this—I mean, you're practically a sister to me. In fact, I suppose that you _are_ my sister." Keith's tone was joking.

"I am _not_ your sister," Nadja growled, spinning around. "What, are you trying to make me feel more dirty than I already _feel_?"

Keith froze. "Nadja, I-"

But something had snapped, and Nadja went on. "You would think, having been courted by my husband and his brother, I would choose one and the other would be a little jealous, wouldn't you? Yet I chose Francis, and _you_ just…smiled! You stopped talking to me at all since then—this trip of Francis' is the only reason there's not some…large-bosomed brunette on your arm right now! Do you have any idea how _humiliating_ it is to have taken you seriously when, obviously, your preference in women is precisely the opposite of me? Do you have any idea how I _feel_, considering that maybe I feel more for you than I ever did for Francis, and yet knowing that you never cared a whit for me!?"

"Nadja!" Keith snapped. His eyes were blazing with anger—and Nadja suddenly felt alive. She hadn't realized how dead his eyes had been, or how dead her own heart had been—and now she was thirteen again, in an alleyway with the Black Rose. Only, this time she knew attraction and—love? She _loved _Keith?—when she felt them. "You just had a _child_. By your _husband_. You don't know what you're saying."

"Of _course_ I know what I'm saying!" snapped Nadja. "Apparently, I didn't know what I was saying at the alter. You know, when I announced my engagement to Francis, I half expected you to throw a fit, or whisk me off. Not smile and tell me how _lucky_ I was!"

"Think about what you're saying, Nadja! You love Francis!"

"Yes, I love him! He's wonderful to me, and kind and gentle and giving—just a perfect husband, isn't he? And yet making love with him is a painful duty, did you know that? Much as I love him, I can hardly stand feeling his hands on my body. I can't stand being _trapped_ in this huge manor—I can't dance the way I used to, I can't laugh out loud or- or… And you and your buxom women!"

Keith's expression had gone unreadable. "I loved you, Nadja."

"Liar."

Keith took her hands and pressed them to his chest. "I loved you—I _love_ you so much that it hurts. I smile and I call you my sister, and arrive with women on my arm who are the stark opposite of you in order to convince myself that I can go on without you! Convincing myself that you're better off and happier with Francis—and then you have the nerve to tell me _this!?_"

"Nerve? You dare to call honesty _nerve_? Well, I'll have you know that it's entirely your fault that you lost out. You never tried to straighten out the lies outside of necessity, and never exactly declared your love, the way Francis would—and then I'm forced to pick at the age of _sixteen_ and I make the wrong choice, and you don't even bother _correcting _me, and-"

Keith's eyes flashed a moment. Then he stepped forward and kissed her.

Suddenly, it struck Nadja that she had been dreadfully, horribly wrong. She had not been romanticizing her memories of Keith, for he kissed better than she remembered. Had he ever even kissed her like this while courting? It was but a gentle kiss, yet she felt her body burning up from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head, and there was only Keith's mouth on hers—gentle, unassuming, moving without claiming anything. Nadja's mouth fell open to relish this moment of tenderness, which she would never receive again.

This was a mistake, for Keith groaned and put his hands on her hips, half way between pulling her closer and pushing her away as he nibbled on her bottom lip to hold back from claiming her mouth as his own. But when Nadja gasped in surprise and twined her arms around his neck, that cause was lost. Nadja's body was pressed up against him as he kissed her with abandon. He needed to be stopped, to be pushed away—but Nadja was clinging to him like a lifeline, and her mouth invited him in, where her tongue curled around his…

He never intended to have Nadja pushed against a tree as he lifted her skirts, she unfastened his trousers, and they ruthlessly tore the last piece of their morality to pieces. He couldn't explain why he did—he was certain he had put all such thoughts of her from his mind the moment she had given her final decision.

When it was over, they were both fully unclothed on the ground—outside, on his _brother's_ _property_, Keith thought, repulsed at himself—and he and Nadja looked listlessly at one another.

Then Nadja began to cry.

Keith's heart broke, and he gathered the love of his life into his lap, wrapped her in his coat and rocked her, whispering soothing words in her ear.

When she fell asleep, Keith dressed them both quickly, and carried her back to the manor, putting her to bed in her room. They spent the remainder of Francis' absence avoiding one another, being cordial with one another when a situation dictated they interact.

Keith could only suppose that Francis went straight to Nadja's bed when he returned. He left that night, for he found that his frustration at losing Nadja again was too much to bear.

When Francis and Nadja's second and third children—identical twin boys—born, Keith felt himself grow ill as he did the math and realized that they were not Francis' children at all. Nadja claimed that they had been born a month and a half early, but with some research, Keith learned that while it was not uncommon for twins to be born early, the pair in question seemed too well-developed. He could only conclude that they had been born only a half a month early, in which case they were doubtlessly his own sons.

Sick to his stomach at his own betrayal of his brother, Keith could not bring himself to visit Nadja. Yet he thought of his sons—his _nephews_, curse it, his _nephews_—and realized that he had already ruined their lives by fathering them in a woman who was his brother's wife. The most he could do was to spoil them—treasure them—like the adoring uncle that he would be to his sons.

The first year was the worst. Every time he saw Nadja when he dropped by Harcourt Manor, he thought he would cease to be able to breathe; he would think of that one afternoon—of the whimpers and moans she made, of the feeling of her beneath his hands—and then he would envision her doing the same with his brother, and he would need to excuse himself to dispel the contents of his stomach somewhere or another.

But time went by and it became easier for him to bear. He thought less of Nadja's body, and more of the torture she must be going through, knowing as she no doubt did that she was raising her brother-in-law's children as her husband's sons—Nadja was not made for deception, and Keith knew better than anyone how it carved a hollow space in her heart with every unjust lie or half-lie that left her lips. Keith began to slowly—tentatively—extend his carefully guarded affection for William and John to include Nadja as well. He inquired after her when he visited, and he observed her just as much as he listened to every word she spoke. When he recognized that she wished for something, he tried to make that wish come true without seeming to intrude into his brother's territory.

When the twins were a year and a half old, Keith visited to find Nadja's demeanor growing darker, much as it had in the days preceding their affair. Keith was reminded, then, that it was not only the passion that Nadja missed in her marriage, but the sheer freedom that she had in the outside world. "A caged bird," Keith whispered to himself in bed that night—it was what he had declared Nadja would be if she lived with her mother; it was what she had become anyway by marrying Francis, a Duke as he was.

The next morning, Keith awoke before the sun and hastened to the stables to make inquiries. Upon learning that the Duchess Harcourt possessed only a mare, Keith led out his horse and rode out to London.

When he returned the next day, he brought with him an Arabic stallion, which he presented to Nadja.

Francis objected, fearful for Nadja's well-being should she fall riding such a spirited creature, and pointed out that she already had a mare. Keith said nothing, and looked over to Nadja as she greeted the stallion, happier than she had been in years.

"You can breed it with the mare for foals," Keith pointed out. "If you start this year, the foals will be the perfect age for the children when they're seven or eight."

After that, Nadja took to taking long morning rides every morning, and a month later Francis had agreed that Keith's had been a brilliant idea. "I don't think I've seen her smile like that in years," said Francis. Keith had not either.

Every visit after that, Keith brought some gift each for every member of the family. He tried not to be biased in favor of William and John, for they were as much Francis' sons as Henry was—a fact which became a personal chant for him, so difficult was it to convince himself of this.

He never brought anything as expensive or coveted as the stallion, nor did he ever buy Nadja gold or jewels. He well knew that she had plenty of those, and wore them only so as not to insult those who had gifted them to her—Francis, for the most part.

Instead, Keith would bring trinkets: once he brought music boxes from Germany; on one occasion it was kittens and puppies from Russia; another time it was tambourines and castanets from Turkey. The house grew livelier, and the light was brighter in Nadja's eyes with each visit he made.

It was when he visited upon his return from Portugal with a variety of novel string instruments that he realized he had made a mistake—the housekeeper informed him upon his entry that Francis was not home and was not expected back for at least a week. As he made to leave the gifts and leave in haste, Nadja entered the entrance hall.

They looked at each other, and Keith's heart wilted to see that the light in Nadja's eyes had dimmed again.

"Keith," she said, and her smile brightened. "Thank you for coming. I shall call the butler to bring in your trunk."

"No need," Keith replied. "I don't have much."

"The boys have missed you," Nadja said quickly, as if foreseeing that he intended to politely excuse himself. He looked at her a moment and nodded. He would stay, if only for a night.

The day passed quickly as he played with the twins—the eldest, for some reason, seemed to have taken a liking to him and Keith couldn't help but wonder if he could sense the bond that should not exist between his mother and his uncle.

But as he lay in bed that night, Keith found that he could not sleep. Again, he was thinking of Nadja alone in her bedchambers—thinking of the fact that this could be the last time he would be so fortunate as to be able to watch her sleeping without the danger of seeing something he could not bear to see. He had often watched her in the days before she had chosen his brother, and continued to watch her until a few weeks before the wedding.

It would be the last time—for old time's sake.

He was not so nimble on his feet as he had been as a teenager, and he had to climb down a tree and walk to the roots of the one by the window of the master bedroom, then climb that tree. He once could have leapt from branch to branch without a sound, Keith recalled with a wry smile.

He had scarcely reached the branch as Nadja sat up and came to the open window.

"Keith?" she whispered. "Is that you?"

Keith blinked, and jumped to the windowsill.

"How did you know?" was all he asked.

"I know you," Nadja smiled sadly. "Just like you know me—you've been trying to give me back my freedom this past year."

Keith said nothing.

"I know it's terrible," Nadja went on. "I have three children! I should love them above all, but I'm so alone! I can't dote over William and John like I do Henry—Henry's too sharp, what if he recognizes this someday? He might ostracize the little ones, and Keith, I wish I could say my children were all Francis'—no, I don't even wish that, because I wish they were all yours."

The last part was a whisper, and Keith dropped from the windowsill to stand before her—but he would not touch her. She continued.

"I don't understand, Keith—I loved Francis. I still love him, but I…" A tear ran down her cheek and she met his eyes. "I love you, Keith."

Keith felt his heart wrench for both himself and Nadja, and he wrapped his arms around her shaking frame.

"I know. I love you too," he whispered, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. "I was wrong, Nadja. I was a child when we courted—I knew you wanted romance, yet I needled you, teased you and mocked you because I found you so…vibrant when you were angry. Francis gave you romance where I only argued with you and irritated you."

"No," Nadja shook her head. "I was blind."

She leaned forward and kissed him chastely, and Keith saw everything that could have been.

When she pulled back, Keith kept his eyes closed, clinging to the illusion of a perfect world behind his eyelids. A world where he and Nadja travelled together with their sons—and perhaps a few more children down the road. A world where he could give her gifts without worrying about what his brother might think of it. A world where he could kiss and hold her at anytime they wished. A world where he could comfort her when she was hurt, rather than slinking into the shadows and hurting with her.

He opened his eyes, and saw tears running down Nadja's face.

"Not quite cut out for the life of a duchess, huh?" he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"I guess not," Nadja laughed hoarsely. Another tear slipped down her cheek.

"Come with me," Keith whispered. He made no move towards her—merely stated the request that was a question.

Nadja looked at him a moment, then nodded.

Keith climbed to the windowsill, helping Nadja up, and they jumped together to the tree. They stumbled and almost fell, and Nadja began to giggle. Keith joined her in laughter as he helped her steady herself against the trunk, then swung down. Nadja followed.

They were still laughing silently when they snuck into the stables and led out Nadja's stallion.

Keith helped Nadja up and leapt up behind her, and urged the horse quickly into a canter.

Nadja had never ridden bareback, Keith knew, and it delighted him to hear her squeals of joy as she clung to the horse with her knees, and could not resist tangling her fingers in its mane. He reached around her to steer the horse, and it felt all too soon when they reached the creek.

"It's beautiful!" Nadja gasped, dismounting eagerly as soon as they had come to a stop. She laughed and twirled in the clearing, and tripped as a foot kicked the water of the creek. As she stumbled and caught herself again, her laughter died and she looked at Keith. "I'm not much of a dancer anymore, I suppose—at least, not of anything but ballroom dances—but I still love to pretend."

"Then pretend," said Keith as he settled himself against a tree in the shadows.

"Isn't this just like the days when we were young?" Nadja breathed as she spun through the clearing, scarcely stumbling on the uneven ground despite her insistence that she was no longer much of a dancer. "You watching me from the shadows, looking out for me without asking for much of anything…" She halted and sighed. "Sometimes…sometimes, I wish we could go back."

"Then pretend," breathed Keith, against his better judgment.

Nadja looked at him a moment, and then smiled softly. "But you're not pretending. You're not needling me."

Keith hesitated. He could scarcely remember why he used to tease her, let alone how. He looked her up and down, and saw that her light blue eyes were sparkling with life—just as they had when they were young.

And he remembered.

"Ever demanding, are we, skinny little girl?"

"Well, you'd never do anything if I didn't demand, now, would you?" Her tone was light, teasing.

"Ah, presuming to know me now, are we?" He grinned at her, and knew he hadn't grinned like this in years.

"But I do know you. You're an egotistical, selfish, irresponsible thief of a man."

"Indeed I am." And he pulled her close and kissed her gently, making sure that his hold was loose enough that she knew that he would not object if she pulled away and refused him.

She did not. Instead, she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. The kiss was soft and chaste. He stroked her back and devoted himself to memorizing each and every spot of skin on her face with his lips.

The act was not one of passion, but one of love. Keith had been with many a woman since realizing that Nadja was lost to him, but he had never understood the phrase "to make love." The phrase was not even applicable to his previous encounter with Nadja.

But now he understood, for though they moved slowly—though it was not about him being inside of her, but rather about feeling and memorizing each and every part of each other—the feeling that built up in both of them was something far greater than either of them had ever experienced. They uttered not words of passion, but declarations of a love that always had been and always would be. The world ceased to exist except them, and it was not an escape, but a declaration that they loved deeper and more sincerely than either of them had ever experienced.

They fell asleep right afterwards, and when they woke, the sun was peeking over the horizon. They dressed quickly and mounted the horse. The ride back to Harcourt Manor was entirely silent, for neither was willing to say the words that would end this temporary illusion.

"I love you," Keith said one last time as he helped Nadja up to her window from the horse's back.

"And I you," Nadja replied once she was inside, looking down upon him from the window.

"Don't be too harsh, if you have another child."

"I can't promise that."

"Then I'll make up for it in love—for all of you."

Nadja sighed. "After tonight, we shall truly be only brother and sister."

"And the love shall never be spoken of again," Keith agreed. "Goodbye, Nadja—I wish you the happiness with my brother I ought to have wished you years ago."

"And I hope that the next girl you bring shall be one you shall be happy with."

"No—no more women shall be at my arm. They are not for me. Give my love to the boys."

With that, Keith rode off into the night.

When Nadja's maid came to wake her two hours later and informed her that Master Keith had disappeared in the middle of the night, Nadja only smiled demurely and got out of bed to begin a new day.


End file.
